Drum Lines and Grip Tape
by Speciosus Nihilum
Summary: The last way Marisol wants to spend summer vacation is working a part-time job while studying pre-calculus. However, after a few Band-Aids, broken wrists, and fuzzy sweaters, she may find herself hoping the summer never ends.
1. Blue Razzle

_A/N: Hello there. This is my first 6teen fanfiction, so if you decide to review, please be gentle. I'm also sorry if the first chapter doesn't explain much, but the next one should be up soon and will hopefully clear up any confusion. Well, without further delay, here it is. Happy reading!_

Disclaimer: I do not own and did not create 6teen.

* * *

**"Before you start shouting, let me explain."**

I curled my arms into a tight knot against my chest, glaring out of the passenger window of my brother's red Volvo. I could feel the skin above my nose beginning to wrinkle as I narrowed my eyes and pursed my lips.

"Fine. I'll give you thirty seconds," I permitted, still determined not to look at him.

"Mar, this isn't like you. Come on, look at me," he pleaded, and I almost began feeling sorry for him. Almost.

"You just wasted about ten seconds there, Zac."

He sighed and resigned himself to his fate. "Look, I know you didn't come up here to work, but it might do you some good to get a job. I'm not asking you to forget about academics. I just think a part-time job would help you to learn some of the more valuable aspects of being an adult."

"As if my summer regimen isn't going to be strict enough; now I have to add work on top of it," I sulked.

"Oh, it won't be that bad."

I shot him a glare out of the corner of my eye, cursing his shaggy, dark brown hair and tan skin for looking so much like mine (aside from the shagginess). How in the world could I be blood-related to someone whose personality was so different from mine?

Zac fidgeted a bit in his seat. "Really. You might be surprised how much fun working can be, Mar. And there are tons of other teenagers employed at the mall. You're bound to make a few friends . . . and hopefully, almost none of them will be guys."

I couldn't help but smile as his normally over-protective side began to show. The tension in my shoulders dissipated, and I relaxed as I watched the trees whip by outside the car. They all blurred into one gigantic mass of green, contrasting against the ever-still sky above. I wondered why the earth seemed to move so quickly, but the clouds always seemed to stay in one place. It was kind of like my life up to that point; everyone else always seemed so busy, but I never had anything to do, or any place to go.

That is, until I made my big move into Canada with my brother, Zac. Even though my social life was painfully lacking, my academics were stunning, and all of my friendship-sacrificing actions had finally paid off. My last report card clinched the deal; I was allowed to transfer up north for a summer study program (and maybe a year of high school). We would go into further detail about topics like biochemistry, trigonometry, geometry, and algebra. We'd discuss such controversial issues as male chauvinism and human cloning. In short, I would be a nerdy, dark-haired American slowly swallowed up by a mass of equally nerdy Canadians.

Overall, it sounded great. Not only would I get to leave my overbearing mother behind in New Jersey, but I'd also get to board with my super-cool, twenty-two-year-old brother. Sure, I'd have some extra studying to do, but it would be worth it someday. Basically, it was like a dream come true . . . until Zac began to lay down the law.

Curfew was midnight on the days I didn't have "summer school," which were Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and weekends. On the days I had to study (Wednesdays and Fridays), eleven was the limit. If I wasn't out that night, I had to be in bed by ten-thirty. I could only leave the house if my homework was complete, no snacks after nine o' clock, and no sleep overs (once I made friends) on school nights. It was a bit much, but I could deal with it.

However, getting a part-time job was a different story. I was allowed to visit Canada to focus on my studies. Now, on top of that, I'd have to learn how to be responsible and act more like an adult. It's every teenager's dream . . . in Perfectville.

"We're here," Zac announced and broke me from my thoughts. He cut the engine and opened his door. "Well, come on. You aren't going to fill any job openings just sitting there."

I groaned as I unlocked my seat belt and stepped outside. Galleria Mall, here I begrudgingly come.

* * *

**It took me about an hour before I found a place that was hiring that day.** I got a job as a part-time cashier at the Slush Shop. This exciting vocation consisted of taking people's orders for one (or more) of our specialty drinks, filling up a clear plastic cup with the slush, and handing it back to the person while accepting the money. We also sell corn dogs and soft pretzels for the especially daring customers, or those that are simply hungry. Oh, and I also got the privilege of wearing a bright pink apron with a picture of our Blue Razzle slush on the front. However, my nametag was probably the highlight of my day; somehow, the person in charge of making the aggravating little pieces of plastic hasn't the faintest idea how to spell. So now, everyone in the mall knows me not as Marisol—my actual name—but as Mariquita (which is Spanish for "ladybug," in case you were wondering).

. . . All complaining aside, my day was extremely boring. I had a very hard time trying not to correct people when they read my infernal nametag, and it was practically impossible to be nice to some of those customers. I also started to get annoyed by the cheerful little "ding!" the cash register makes every time it opens. More important, I began to get really hungry and yearned for a break.

As luck would have it, just as my lunch break started calling my name, another customer walked up to the counter. He was fairly tall with dark blue, messy hair and a smug smile perched above his cleft chin. He leaned against the counter like he owned the entire mall, and before I could take the time to roll my eyes, he spoke.

"How's the menu here?"

I tried looking beyond him for the girl supposedly covering the next shift, but no one in a pink apron was to be found. I turned my attention back to him and—despite my increasingly irritable mood—acted fairly agreeably.

"To be honest, I'm not sure," I admitted with a shrug. "But the Blue Razzle slush is a popular choice."

"Blue Razzle it is, then." He rested his elbows on the counter and leaned in closer to the register. "So, listen, are you doing anything later tonight?"

I rushed over to the slush machine and watched as the Day-Glo blue ice mixture began pouring into a clear plastic cup. Maybe if I pretended to be distracted, he'd think I didn't hear him and drop the subject. Or better yet, he'd think I was stuck up and simply wasn't giving him the time of day. Whatever his assumptions, I just needed to turn him off. You see, though I may talk big most of the time, when it comes to guys, I'm clueless. I've never exactly been good at handling situations with attractive examples of the opposite sex. This guy's interest in me only added to the confusion.

Unfortunately, luck wasn't smiling on me at that moment; he asked the question again once I turned to give him his drink. I looked up into his expectant, dark-brown eyes—his pupils drilled microscopic holes into my skin—and froze.

"That's all right. You don't have to answer me right now." I still wasn't sure whether to find his self-assured grin completely nauseating or slightly appealing. "Why don't you just give me your number, and I'll call you a little later, after you've thought things through?"

_My number? Oh, right. I have a cell phone. That means I have a number_, I reminded myself. I studied my hands religiously, searching for some guidance in the cracks on my knuckles. The only guidance I received was a reminder to use more lotion.

"Well, I uh . . ." _Think, Marisol, think!_ ". . . don't have a pen."

"No worries. I can just put you right in my contacts." I peered up to find his phone already flipped open, his fingers ready to punch in the digits as I recited them. He stared at my chest before looking back to his phone and typing in something. "Okay. I've got your name in."

My tongue began to swell to the size of a wet, industrial-sized, kitchen sponge. My palms became clammy, my forehead dripped with sweat, and my knees locked up. I wanted to shrink to the size of a grain of salt on one of the soft pretzels still warming in the tray: just big enough to be seen, but too small to attract much attention.

This guy, on the other hand, was perfectly calm. He must've thought my stalling was from actual intelligence rather than a blockage in my frontal lobe, as he started to explain himself. "Oh, right, I never told you my name. It's Jonesy."

Before I could stop myself and consider what Zac would do if he found out I was giving my number to strangers, I began reciting the digits as if on cue. Jonesy gave me one last grin and a wink, handed me three dollars, and left. He'd told me to keep the change, granting me an extra penny, which I promptly shoved into my pocket. Then, a chorus of angels sounded and trumpets blared as the replacement cashier showed up, relieving me of my duties (at least for a little while) after a tiring first day.

Little did I know, my day was far from over.


	2. Puerto Rico Eyes

_A/N: Wow, I got this chapter up fairly quickly, considering my usual update speed. Anyway, thanks to everyone who's been reading so far, and I hope you like my second installment (it's a bit longer, too). As always, happy reading!_

* * *

**Eating within the mall seemed to make the most sense, so I decided to dine at the infamous Burger McFlipster's.** Apparently, the employees are required to sing while filling your order, so I decided to check it out. Shirley, the girl covering the next shift at the Slush Shop, told me the one guy was cute, too, so it couldn't be that bad. Besides, I was really in the mood for a burger.

I left my apron behind the counter at the Slush Shop, so I finally got the chance to walk around without being called Mariquita. The hot pink was a bit bright for my tastes, anyway; I much preferred my dark green, shoulder-less, long-sleeved sweater and plaid miniskirt. Darker colors tend to attract less attention, and I'm not exactly a huge fan of the spotlight. Dark green's also my favorite color, as it's very comforting, easy on the eyes, and just plain serene.

Anyway, back to the story. Burger McFlipster's is quite an interesting venue, with glossy metal and a color scheme reminiscent of the 1950's. The burgers' aroma filled the restaurant to the brim and leaked out into the hall, which wasn't a bad thing; it smelled _really _good. My mouth was watering before I'd even stepped a foot inside the place. Oh, and the cute guy behind the counter didn't hurt, either.

His hair was curly and poofy, and it looked really soft. In fact, I almost started to wonder if he needed to use a pillow at night; I was sure his hair would give enough cushioning. I couldn't see all of his hair, though; it was pushed down slightly and stuck out from beneath his uniform's green, white, and red baseball cap. The rest of his uniform used the same colors, but at least it wasn't as embarrassing as wearing a bright pink apron with a neon blue slushie embroidered on it.

"What can I get you?" He gave me an easy, friendly smile, which was quite a relieving change from Jonesy's bedroom eyes.

"Just your standard burger and fries. Oh, and a chocolate milkshake," I said with a grin. Man, was it nice being off from work.

"Coming right up." His grin broadened, and when he turned to get my order, I could've sworn I'd seen him somewhere before. I know that probably sounds impossible, considering I just got done saying I'd never been to Canada before. But he just looked so familiar . . . I knew him somehow, I was sure of it.

It hit me after he got done singing the required song about my burger. Normally, a song about food would probably sound really silly, but he had a really nice voice (I probably could've stood there and listened to him sing all day). Then, right as I was daydreaming about missing a few more hours of work to listen to another burger song, Burger McFlipster's manager came out and said the guy's name.

"Wyatt, can I see you for a moment?"

That was it. It all made sense now.

I waited until they were done talking to ask. "Excuse me, but did he say your name's Wyatt?"

"Yeah." He spoke slowly and gave me a confused look. "Why?"

"I know this is going to sound really strange, but . . . did you happen to have a pen pal in the seventh grade?" I fought the urge to stare at my feet in embarrassment, just in case I was on to something.

To my relief, I was. "Actually, yeah. We still write to each other."

"Is there any possibility that she knows what you look like?"

"Well, she should. We sent photographs of ourselves to each other." He shook his head and arched a dubious eyebrow. "Wait a minute, who are you again?"

I ignored the question and continued with my own inquiries. "Is her name Marisol?"

He stared at me for a moment before continuing. "Yeah. How did you . . .?"

I tried to stifle the giddy giggle welling up in my throat. "When I said we might see each other when I came up here for that summer study program, I didn't think that would actually happen."

His face lit up instantly. "Marisol? Wow, this is amazing!"

"Tell me about it." I looked around to find that the manager was giving me the stink eye. "Sorry, I don't want to hold you up while you're supposed to be working."

"It's cool. I have a break coming up soon, then we can talk." He pushed the tray with my burger, fries, and chocolate shake across the counter and closer to me. "In the meantime, you should eat."

* * *

**After Wyatt got off from work, we found a bench near the food court and had a good, long chat.** We discussed practically everything we'd ever covered in the letters, as well as a few things we'd never mentioned to each other. I was glad to hear Wyatt was still playing the guitar and excited to know that he'd already won a contest for his musical talent. He showed me his tattoo of an eighth note on his arm, and I showed him the one I'd gotten of a heart on my wrist a while back when I'd been going through my "rebellious" stage. That's what my mother had called it, anyway, but I'd really just wanted a tattoo. It's not like it was even that big, but she blew it all out of proportion, as usual.

Thankfully, his voice interrupted my thoughts before I'd had a chance to get too angry over the memories. "So, how's that study program going?"

"Pretty well so far. If I'm lucky enough, I might be able to go to school up here when it starts in September, too." I sighed. "I have to pass this test first, though. It's, like, three hours long, and I heard it's really tough."

"Well, you were smart enough to pass the preliminary exams, and people told you they were hard, too," he reminded me with a smile. "I'm sure you'll be fine."

I relaxed my shoulders and let out a laugh. "I can't believe I'm actually talking to you in person. This is going to sound weird, but I always wondered if you had, like, a really deep voice like some of those Motown singers, or if your voice was kind of high pitched, like that guy from Coheed and Cambria. Luckily, your voice is normal."

We talked a bit more before he asked that fateful question. "So, have you managed to make any friends yet? It must be hard moving to an entirely different country."

"Actually, it's not that bad. I mean, you all speak English, so at least there's no language barrier." Then, I angled my eyes down to my feet. "As far as the 'friends' thing goes, though, I haven't really been that successful. I'm not exactly the most outgoing person in the world . . . or in my family, for that matter."

"How much longer is your break?"

I opened the clock-locket around my neck. "I have about a half-hour left before my shift starts."

"Well, then, there are a few people you should probably meet." He stood up from the bench we'd been sitting at for the past fifteen minutes and starting walking off in an obscure direction. When I didn't follow, he looked back and motioned for me to join him. "Come on, let's go."

* * *

**Once I saw the busload of people sitting at the Big Squeeze, **I became especially apprehensive about walking over and introducing myself. I ducked behind one of the fake trees decorating the mall's otherwise empty corners, perfectly willing to wait there while Wyatt explained who I was and how we'd met. I peeked out occasionally to get a better look at his friends—there were quite a few, even though some were apparently still at work—and recognized one as the guy who'd solicited my phone number at work earlier. If I had any idea that Jonesy and Wyatt were friends, I probably would've thought twice about giving out my number so easily.

Just when I thought he'd forgotten about me, Wyatt noticed I was gone and came back for me. He gave me a curious smile and cocked his head slightly to the side. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, just chillin' behind this plant. I think it's a fichus."

"Come on. I've already given you a whole introduction; all you have to do is walk over there." He extended a hand to help me get back on my feet. I declined the offer.

"I appreciate the effort, but I think I'll just sit here a while longer. The floor is more comfortable than I thought it'd be."

He was determined. "They aren't going to bite. Besides, how do you ever expect to make friends sitting behind a fichus? Now, come on."

"Any chance you'll just give up?" He shook his head, to which I promptly sighed. I hesitantly took his hand and headed over to the swarm of Canadian teenagers, unsure of what to expect.

"Hey there, babe. Have you come to a decision concerning our date yet?" A familiar blue-haired flirt asked me once I'd approached the group. He was sitting with the rest of Wyatt's friends, slouching against one of the chairs assembled around the circular table.

_Well, I guess I should've expected that much._

"You two know each other?" For some reason, Wyatt seemed a bit disappointed.

"Yeah, we've met." To say the least.

"Your name's . . . Mariquita." Jonesy had his phone out and looked to be scrolling through his contacts. He looked up. "Hey, you know that means 'ladybug,' right?"

"Yeah, I know. But, um, my name's actually Marisol." He just stared, so I shrugged my shoulders. "The person in charge of making the name tags has a bit of a spelling problem."

He laughed. "No, I think I'll still call you Mariquita. It's kind of cute."

I sighed in defeat, and thankfully, Wyatt took over. "Anyway, Marisol just moved here from the U.S., and I wanted to introduce her to you guys so she'd know at least a few people around here. I'll have to talk to Nikki, Jen, and Jude later."

"So, you've been writing letters to Wyatt since you were in the seventh grade? Oh, my name's Caitlin, by the way."

I looked to see the girl behind the counter at the Big Squeeze was waiting for my response. She had short blonde hair clipped up with a pink butterfly pin, and her wardrobe consisted of a gigantic lemon on her head, a pink tank top, and a blue miniskirt.

Her smile was inviting enough, but I was still feeling a little anxious, so I just nodded as an answer to her previous question.

"Wow. It must be great seeing each other for the first time." She leant against the counter with her elbows, a dreamy look in her eyes. "I wish _I_ had a pen pal."

"Yeah. If I had any idea mine could've been as hot as yours, I would've kept writing to her," Jonesy commented to Wyatt.

Before I had a chance to roll my eyes, I felt the hard mall floor collide with the back of my head. Extra weight began to press down against my ribs, stomach, and thighs. Judging by the hot breath being blown in my face, I was certain someone had fallen on me. When the person started to get up, I was able to catch a glimpse of his face.

It looked like he had blonde hair, though most of it was hidden beneath a black beanie. He wore a black, long-sleeved shirt under a pale, greenish-white t-shirt, along with blue-jean shorts that hung precariously on his waist. I could see the very top of his boxers, too, but that wasn't what caught my attention.

His eyes were barely half open, but they were the most amazing color. It reminded me of our annual family vacation to Puerto Rico, when I'd stand at the edge of the beach with my feet in the wet sand. The sunshine would beat down on my naturally tan skin, adding highlights to my dark hair and kissing my back with its warm rays. The refreshing smell of salt water and the soothing caresses of a tropical sea breeze would pervade my senses, but even more captivating would be the water. You see, back in New Jersey, the water is a murky brown at best. But in Puerto Rico, it's a brilliant, beautiful, almost ethereal blue, a color unlike anything I've ever seen before . . . and it was right in his eyes.

I could've stared into those irises forever. Knowing me, I probably would have, if he hadn't spoken and brought me back to the present. "Sorry 'bout that, bra. Are you all right?"

I could feel my face getting hot as I remembered what I'd just been thinking. "Uh, yeah. I'm fine."

"Dude, it's a good thing I took a shower this morning, or that would've been really awkward." He got to his feet and let out an airy laugh that sounded like it was being played in slow motion. In fact, even the way he carried himself had a mellow, slowed-down pace to it. He backtracked a few feet to find his skateboard lying upside-down on the ground with its wheels still spinning. Well, at least now I knew how the whole crash happened.

I stood up and turned my focus to Wyatt, who looked mortified. "I'm so sorry, Marisol," he said in the most apologetic tone I'd ever heard. I half-expected his eyes to start welling up with tears.

"It's okay, really. Compared to most people, I'm unusually accident-prone." I opened the locket around my neck to check the time. "I need to get going, though. I'll see you later."

They each said their goodbyes, which also consisted of Caitlin insisting I stop by whenever I was in the mood for a lemonade and Wyatt apologizing for his friend's clumsiness a second time. Then, with a slight headache and lighter heart, I headed back to work.

* * *

**My head still hurt a little from the fall when I got home,** but overall, I'd say I felt pretty good about my first day working at the mall. I'd already managed to make a few friends, so my mom would be a bit relieved when I called her later. Zac would be happy, too, though he insisted he meet any guy friends before our friendships went much further. All things considered, it was just another normal day. Maybe this mall thing wouldn't be so bad after all.

Anyway, I would write more, but I need to start working on my pre-calculus homework. The unit circle—along with my trusty friend, Mr. Graphing Calculator—is calling me, and even though everything looks like it's written in Greek, I must attend to it. I'm getting kind of tired, too, so . . . until next time.


	3. Zac Attack

_A/N: Thanks to everyone who's been reading this story thus far. Sorry this chapter took a little longer than the last one, but hopefully, it'll be worth the wait. Anyway, happy reading!_

* * *

**The next few days at the mall passed without much excitement.** In-between waiting for customers to show up (which only happened every once in a great while), I spent the majority of my time working on homework and trying to understand exactly why so many Greek letters are used in mathematics. When I tired of pi and theta, there was biochemistry and physics to keep my mind engaged. The homework was so intense; I'd gotten into the habit of simply putting the pencil behind my ear whenever someone showed up thirsty at the Slush Shop counter. That way, I could just resume working on the impossible equations and whatnot whenever the customer left.

Luckily, Wyatt usually stopped by whenever he was on a coffee break. I was shocked to learn he had such an acute caffeine addiction; it would've worried me if I hadn't been so utterly consumed by countless other worries. Nevertheless, his visits were a great reprieve from the world of trigonometry and chemical reactions. His friend Caitlin was pretty cool, too; she checked up on me every once in a while, usually when she was midway through one of her shopping sprees. Luckily, his friend Jonesy hadn't pressed me about our alleged "date," so I'd been able to forget about cute guys for a while.

That is, until _he_ showed up. That boy who'd nearly ran me over outside the Big Squeeze—I still didn't know his name—passed by the Slush Shop every once in a while on his skateboard, and it was all I could do not to keep my eyes glued to him. It's not that he was particularly interesting—I mean, he was good and everything, but my knowledge of skating was fairly limited. I couldn't tell you what tricks he'd performed, and I barely knew the difference between the tail and the nose of the actual board. However, he rode pretty fast, and he didn't fall all that much, so I figured that must've counted for something.

Nonetheless, it was probably my lack of knowledge that had me so interested. I still hadn't worked up the guts to ask Wyatt what the guy's name was—I mean, I wasn't going to just ask right out of the blue or anything—nor had I said a single word to the mystery skater since he'd plowed into my face. All I knew was he had amazing eyes, and that was enough of an excuse for me to watch him skate off benches and around annoyed adult shoppers. My own eyes are a dark brown, and everyone else in my family has a similar shade. Sure, I've seen blue eyes before, but . . . I don't know, I guess his were just, different. So different, I honestly couldn't stop myself from staring every time he skated by—secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of his eyes if he happened to look in my direction.

I'd run over the scenario a thousand times in my head. He'd skate over, all laid-back and cool, and stand at the counter, his eyes glistening like he truly held Puerto Rico's waters in them. My hair would be perfect (not the frizzy mess it usually was), and a breathtakingly beautiful outfit—like a slinky, deep red, strapless dress and an elegant gold bracelet on my wrist—would suddenly replace my florescent apron. I'd bat my long lashes and turn my lips into a pout while his heart fluttered. Then, he'd jump over the counter and confess his love for me, and we'd . . . you know, make out and stuff.

Anyway . . . yeah, I realize this whole idea isn't exactly . . . well, possible in any way, but hey, it's hard not to daydream when your only other choice involves a graphing calculator and angles of depression.

* * *

**However, as luck would have it, he _did _visit me one day.** Of course, luck would also have it that I was completely unprepared. Halfway through one of my usual staring sessions, he began to make his way over to the counter. I quickly hid my face behind my hair as I pretended to work on a math problem involving angular velocity. Not that such an action stopped him—he continued to skate his way over, his eyes in their normally lazy, half-open manner—and so my cheeks began to burn hotter than coals.

"Hey, dudette. What's up?"

My tongue rolled up and lodged its way into the back of my throat. _So much for acting smooth and sultry. _It took a moment, but I was eventually able to respond. "Uh . . . nothing, really."

"So, you serve drinks here?"

"Yep. That's why it's called 'The Slush Shop' . . . we specialize in flavored ice slush . . . we have over fifty flavors, actually . . . oh, and we serve soft pretzels and corn dogs, too . . ." I sighed and angled my eyes away from his. "Sorry, I'm sure you didn't come over here to listen to me ramble."

"'s okay, bra." He kept his eyes locked with mine for a few moments, and I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. He looked down to the counter, obviously trying to decipher my hodgepodge of math notes and bored little doodles. "Wow, that looks . . . really complicated. Isn't school out for everyone by now?"

"Oh, this isn't schoolwork . . . well, I guess it sort of is, but not that kind, anyway." I nervously began stacking my papers into a neat pile and shoving them off to the side. "It's not really important, either . . . just something I do to keep me busy between customers."

"You do that for _fun_?" His jaw dropped. "Bra, you have seriously got to get out more."

"Are you kidding me? Math is my worst subject—that's why I have to focus on it so much. Ask me to write you an essay, and I'd be finished in no time. But pre-calculus . . . that wouldn't be fun, ever."

He cocked an eyebrow and tilted his head to the side. "Then . . . _why_ are you doing it?"

I rubbed the back of my neck out of embarrassment. Hopefully, I wouldn't sound like too much of a nerd once the truth got out. "Well, I'm enrolled in this summer study program. I'm only working here because my brother thinks I need to be more responsible . . . look, I'm really sorry. Instead of telling you my life story, why don't I get you something to drink?"

"Oh, riiiight." He squinted his eyes as he examined the list of drinks displayed above and behind me. "Uh . . . how about an Orange Fizz?"

"Sure thing." I waited until I turned my back to let loose a toothy grin. This talking thing . . . it wasn't _so _bad.

I quickly recomposed myself as I handed the skater his drink. Now was the perfect chance to find out his name, too. "You're one of Wyatt's friends, right?"

"Yep. We've known each other since, like, kindergarten." He took a sip of his slush and let out a goofy laugh. "Yeah . . . that's _good _stuff."

Before I could reply, Wyatt rushed over to the counter in a huff, his hands bare of his signature coffee cup. "Hey guys. Marisol, I need something cold—and quick."

"Sure." I turned around to start on our Iced Green Tea Special. "What's the rush?"

"Nothing. It's just . . . this one guy has really been bugging me lately. He comes into Burger McFlipster's practically every day, acting all cool in his leather jacket and dark glasses. Then, whenever I'm in the middle of charming the customers, he upstages me by singing some epic love ballad." He rested his head in his hands as he took a deep breath. "I just need to cool off."

The blonde skater still looked a bit lost. "So, this dude's been stealing your spotlight with the chicks?"

Wyatt lifted his head from his hands and rolled his eyes. "Yes, Jude. That's exactly what he's been doing."

_Jude! Of course . . . why couldn't I remember an easy name like that?_ I wondered as I turned back around and handed Wyatt his ice-slush substitute for a chill pill. "This should help you calm down. Even though green tea has caffeine in it, it's actually really soothing."

"Thanks." Just as I was handing Wyatt his change, his shoulders tensed and brow creased. "Ugh! Here that guy comes. I swear, I feel like he's stalking me sometimes."

One glance at the alleged blockhead, and my stomach plummeted to my toes. "Oh, no."

Wyatt jerked his head back around to look at me, fear written plainly in his eyes. "What?"

"Your mystery jerk . . . is my older brother." I tried ducking down behind the register before Zac could notice me, but my plan failed miserably.

* * *

**"Marisol, what are you doing?"**

I slowly lifted my eyes back up to see Zac peering over the counter, his trademark leather jacket in place. His vintage 1974 Fender Stratocaster—or his "baby," as he liked to call it—was slung over his shoulder, and his aviator glasses were in place, keeping his dark brown eyes out of sight behind their dark lenses. His black bangs were messy in a fashionable way—my brother was gifted in that he could just roll out of bed in the morning and have great hair. I, on the other hand, have never been so fortunate.

"Oh . . . hey, Zac." I straightened myself into a standing position and smoothed out the imaginary creases in my apron. "What are you doing here?"

"It gets kind of boring hanging around home after work," he answered in a dismissive tone before turning to Wyatt and Jude with narrowed eyes. "So, who are your friends?"

_Just as I thought. He only came over here to check up on me_—_and to make sure I didn't make too many guy friends_, I thought with a mental sigh. "This is Jude, and I think you and Wyatt have already met."

"Hey." He gave them each a quick once-over. He conversed shortly with Wyatt, asking him on such topics as musical interests and book genres. He gave Wyatt a small nod—in obscenely-overly-protective-brother speak, that simply meant he approved. Then, he turned his attention to Jude.

"So, what about you?" Zac asked casually, though experience told me he was as serious as ever.

"Um . . . I don't really read that much. Well, I read this manual once, but that's about it." Jude stopped and looked thoughtful for a moment. "Oh, and the Mighty Weasels are _awesome_."

"Yes, well, that's a given." Zac leaned against the counter. I bit my lip in anticipation. "Look, there's no use beating around the bush. How do you feel about my baby sister?"

"Uh . . . sorry, dude. Never met her."

"He means me," I clarified before giving Zac a harsh glare. "And I'm not a baby, Zac. I'm a fully capable, independent young woman with a mind of her own and adult responsibilities."

"Yeah, yeah." Zac lowered his aviators and focused back on Jude. "Answer the question."

Jude fidgeted and bit his lip. I couldn't stand it anymore. "Zac, stop interrogating my friends. Now, unless you're going to order something off the menu, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Don't take it personally—it's just Slush Shop policy."

Zac slowly backed away from the counter, his squinted eyes transfixed on Jude's apprehensive frame. "Okay . . ." he gestured to Jude, ". . . but I'm not done with you yet."

When Zac turned the corner as was safely out of hearing range, I let out a sigh. "Sorry about that. My brother can be a bit intimidating sometimes, but he's really a good guy."

"It's all right," Wyatt assured me with an easy smile and a swig of his slush. "I've gotta go, though. Talk to you later."

I looked to Jude, who was still just standing there, drink in hand. He seemed to be staring off into space, so it took him a minute before he realized I was watching him. He smiled and shrugged. "I don't have anything to do. Guess I'll go hit the skate park for a while."

I had no idea how to ask without sounding desperate, so I just forgot about logic for a short moment and asked, anyway. "Actually, my shift's just about over, so . . . would it be all right if I came with you? I love watching skateboarding on TV, so it'd be even better to see it live. I promise not to get in your way or anything. . . ."

A huge smile stretched across his lips, and his eyes lit up with all the sunlight of Puerto Rico's summers. "Sure! I've always wanted an audience."

I waited for Shirley to show up, packed my atrociously pink apron away, and embarked on my journey with Jude (all while trying to keep my heart from bursting out of my chest). Hopefully, my knees wouldn't give out until we at least reached the skate park . . . boy, would that be embarrassing.


	4. Trigonometry Homework Mishap

_A/N: Sorry it took me a little longer to write this one. Anyway, I hope it proves to be worth the wait. Happy reading!_

* * *

**You'll be happy to know my knees didn't lock up at all that day,** nor did I fall flat on my face or vomit from the jumpy nerves (which I'm prone to do). Actually, spending my break at the skate park was quite relaxing; I leaned against this rail almost the whole time, just watching Jude as he kickflipped, ollied, and did all sorts of other nameless tricks, most of which took place on the half-pipe (okay, so I knew a few terms). It was also a relief to know that watching him wouldn't be perceived as strange; he expected to have an attentive audience, so staring was permitted. In all honesty, however, I must admit that I didn't exactly focus on his skating the whole time . . . actually, I usually just stared at him to, well, stare at him.

I also peeked over my shoulder every once in a while to make sure Zac wasn't lurking any place nearby; he has a really bad habit of invading my personal space without me even realizing it. He's accompanied me on more than one date before—and not because I let him, but because I didn't know he was there. Luckily, his cover is usually blown halfway through his attempt at espionage. For example, I was going to this movie once with this really cute guy named Ricky, and just as the suspenseful quiet scene came on the screen, I heard Zac cough from the seat behind me. Not only did that ruin the date, but it ruined the best part of the movie, too.

Anyway, I'm not equating my time at the skate park with a date, but you get the point. I've grown up without a father for most of my life, so Zac has sort of volunteered for that role—and most of the time, he takes it to the extreme.

_Enough about Zac_, I told myself as I got back to staring at Jude. _There's no reason to worry about Older Brother Patrol when I could be watching . . . him._

I was in the middle of another staring session when I heard screaming in my ear. I looked over to see some guy on a skateboard coming straight at me, his face contorted into an expression of frustration and anger. I was sure he was saying something—his lips were moving—but I couldn't make out a single word. In fact, he sounded like one of those teachers from a Charlie Brown movie, only a whole lot angrier.

I almost got ran over before I realized I was leaning against a rail commonly used for skating.

Luckily, I came out unharmed, aside from a bruised ego. I apologized more than I think I ever have in my whole life, but the skater still looked really ticked off. Something in his eyes told me he wasn't exactly pleased with non-skaters hanging out in the skate park. Considering the way I'd just acted, I couldn't blame him.

I was trying to forget the whole thing when Jude glided over with a broad smile, completely oblivious to the almost-confrontation that had just occurred. He kicked his board up so it was perpendicular to the ground and rested his hand on the nose. Then, he tilted his chin up slightly as he asked, "So, what did you think?"

I quickly darted my eyes down to my boots, and I noticed the leather was starting to look a bit dull. "Sorry. I wish I could tell you which trick I thought was the best, but I have no idea what any of them are called. I guess I'm not much of an audience."

To my surprise, he didn't groan, grunt, or make any of those sounds people make when they're irritated. Warily, I looked up to find him smiling at me. "That's all right, bra. How did I look?"

"Oh, you looked awesome." Actually, he looked really hot, too, but I wasn't about to mention that. Instead, I decided to keep the conversation casual. "I'd love to learn how to skateboard, but there aren't many skaters around to teach you when you grow up in the boondocks."

"I could teach you."

"Really?" I could barely hold off the smile begging to stretch across my lips. Finally, an excuse to spend time with Jude was within my reach—and I didn't have to turn into a stalker, either!

The light from the mall's florescent bulbs danced in his eyes. "Sure, dudette. I'm always up for the chance to recruit a new skater."

Suddenly, I envisioned myself on a skateboard, with Jude adjusting my feet on the board and telling me just how to bend my knees. We were standing so close, his body heat practically melted into my skin. Of course, this daydream was all really exciting until the board starting moving from beneath my feet . . . then, my brain began to show me what would _actually _happen. I swerved and shrieked as I blasted off in a vague direction, unable to stop or avoid even the smallest obstacles. Then, I crashed into a nearby fichus and blacked out. When I woke up, I had clods of dirt in my hair and an angry Zac staring me in the face.

I winced and shook my head as I tuned back into reality. "Yeah . . . on second thought, I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Let me know if you change your mind." He let his board drop to the ground and regained his footing. However, instead of heading back onto the skate park's assorted ramps, he turned for the exit. "Well, I think it's about time to shred some more of the mall's linoleum."

I checked the clock inside my locket. "I have to get going, too. Thanks for letting me tag along, Jude."

"No problem, bra. Catch you later." He raced off into the distance, leaving me stranded in a sea of decks, trucks, and various other skateboard parts whose names evaded me. I ducked out of the skate park just as some kid was about to bulldoze me into the ground.

Aside from a minor injury to my ego, I'd say the entire event went fairly well.

* * *

**By nothing short of a miracle,** I was able to convince Jude to let me accompany him to the skate park several times after my first trip. Now that he knew I was watching him, he also seemed to skate by the Slush Shop more frequently, usually just to show off by ollieing over one of the mall's benches or grinding the ledge of a fichus pot. On occasion, he also wiped out completely, sometimes losing his board in the process. Whenever that happened, I abandoned my station and ran over to make sure he was okay, which usually involved asking how many fingers I was holding up (to make sure he didn't have a concussion) and helping him retrieve his board from the fountain. Luckily, his bail count wasn't anywhere near as high as his success count, so I didn't have to run out too often.

Along with the increase in skateboard watching, I found myself starting to think about him all the time. More than once, I'd caught myself doodling his name in the margins of my math homework or daydreaming about him while I was supposed to be memorizing biology vocabulary. I spent five minutes just thinking about the way his lips arched when he smiled, and another ten minutes drooling over the thought of his Puerto Rico eyes looking into mine. If you could compare a crush's intensity to a sickness, I'd say I was suffering from something terminal.

Unfortunately, I wasn't very good at keeping my feelings under wraps. I'd managed not to slip in front of Jude, but Zac was starting to grow very suspicious of my uncanny goofy smiles and my new habit of staring off into space while twirling my hair. He'd caught me scrawling Jude's name out across the top of a science lab report once, and I'd tried convincing him that Jude was a famous scientist responsible for the invention of wind turbines. Of course, Zac just so happened to write an entire research paper on wind turbines back in college, so he knew the guy's real name was Charles F. Brush (really, that's his name). I avoided talking to Zac after that event, but I knew it wouldn't be long until he grilled me on the subject.

Not that Zac's suspicion really mattered. Allow me to explain:

I'd followed Jude to the Big Squeeze one day after one of his skating sessions. Everything was going great; all of Wyatt's friends were there—even Jen and Nikki, who I'd only met one time before. I sat down in the vacant seat near Jude and listened attentively while he talked to everyone, staying fairly quiet myself. Then, Jonesy mentioned how he'd managed to score a date, and Wyatt added that he and his girlfriend Marlowe had plans as well. Jude sighed and hung his head as he explained he was date-less yet again.

"Dude, that's it. I didn't want to interfere, but you've left me no choice." Jonesy stood up from his chair and walked over to Jude, grabbing him by the arm. "I'm taking you hottie-hunting, and we're not going to finish until we find you a date for tonight."

"I don't know, dude," Jude shrugged. I could feel my stomach drop to my toes and my heartbeat grind to a halt as I pictured him with another girl.

Jonesy pulled Jude to his feet and started walking away from the Big Squeeze. In the distance, I could hear him telling Jude "stop being a wimp and grow some cojones," and I gulped.

_Just when I think I'm getting close to something, I'm proven wrong_, I sulked, slouching over in my seat and letting out a long sigh. _I swear, sometimes I have the worst luck with guys. I'm starting think I should just forget about love completely—that would make Zac happy_.

"What's the matter, Marisol?" I turned around to see Caitlin looking at me with her big green eyes, genuine concern written across her face.

I turned back around and straightened my posture. "It's nothing."

"Come on, you can tell us." This time it was Jen speaking. "We're all friends here."

I was beginning to wonder if all of Wyatt's friends were always this persistent. "Really, I'm fine. I need to get going, though; my shift's going to start in a few minutes, and I don't want to make Shirley mad by being late."

Then, it happened. I got up from my chair, and the contents of my purse spilled to the floor. A small gold compact, my wallet, my iPod, a spare hairbrush, and a wad of paper all fell to the ground. That wouldn't have been as bad if the wad of paper hadn't been my trigonometry homework. My eyes immediately latched onto the small scribbles of Jude's name lining the corners, margins, and spare lines on the horrid notebook paper. At that moment, my entire life felt like it depended on me getting that paper before anyone else saw it.

I reached down to grab it when Jen's hand snatched it up. My heart skipped a beat, a cold sweat began to form on my forehead, and I was pretty sure my nervous system was shutting down.

"Here you go," she said in a sweet, helpful tone, obviously unaware of the evil she'd committed. Just as I was about to take the paper from her, Jen's curiosity kicked in and her eyes did a brief scan. Just as I'd dreadfully anticipated, her eyes widened and she drew in a sharp breath.

"What is it?" Caitlin asked, her voice almost shrill from the suspense.

"Jude . . . his name is all over this paper . . . . " Jen sounded absolutely dumbfounded. I tried to tear the evidence from her before she began piecing the clues together, but her death-grip was too strong.

Caitlin arched a brow. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. It's written in hot pink ink, and it's surrounded by a bunch of doodles."

Caitlin walked out from behind the gigantic lemon and peeked over Jen's shoulder. "Oh my God! That's not just hot-pink ink—that's the color ink you use when you've got a crush on a guy and can't get him out of your head. And those aren't just doodles—they're flowers, hearts, and curly loops. The same type of curly loops I draw on my schoolwork when I'm thinking about a guy."

I could feel the blood beginning to rush to my cheeks as I felt their eyes on me. "You're mistaken. I love to draw, and I doodle whenever I get bored. And my pink gel pen was the only one I had left that still worked."

Caitlin didn't seem the least bit convinced. She inched closer to me, squinting her eyes and propping her hands on her hips as she stared me in the face. "Nice try, but that still doesn't explain why Jude's name is all over the place."

It might've failed on Zac, but these girls looked gullible enough. ". . . You mean you didn't know? Jude was the last name of the inventor of wind turbines. I had to research him for biology, and I was testing out different ways to write his name before I wrote it on my report cover."

Caitlin probably would've believed me if Wyatt hadn't spoken up. "Actually, I'm pretty sure that guy's name was Charles F. Brush."

I threw my arms up in defeat. "Seriously, how does _everybody_ know that?"

"So I _was_ right!" Caitlin squealed as she rigorously clapped her hands. "You have a crush on Jude!"

I tried hiding my face, but I could feel Wyatt looking at me. "Is she right?"

_Stay strong. Stay strong. As long as you don't look him in the eye, you'll be able to get through this. Just pretend you didn't hear him_. I sneaked a peek at him out of the corner of my eye, and I immediately felt my willpower collapse. I slouched over and hid my face in my hands. "I'm sorry, Wyatt. I know he's your friend, and that's why I tried to just forget about it, but . . . his smile, his laugh, and the way his eyes light up when he finishes a really difficult trick . . . he's just so . . . dreamy."

"Are we talking about the same Jude who once went three weeks without bathing? Just because he _felt_ like it?" Nikki could barely conceal the disgust in her voice as thoughts of Jude's poor hygiene filled her mind. "You do realize he doesn't wear that beanie all the time to make a fashion statement, right?"

"Wow." Wyatt shook his head. "I don't want to sound insensitive or anything, but . . . you're one of the smartest people I've ever met. Jude is the last person I pictured you with."

"Well, I think it's sweet." Caitlin got the same look she always gets when she's thinking about romance. "It's a love story fit for a fairy tale. A smart, sophisticated girl falls for a not-so-smart, less-sophisticated skater . . . It's like _Beauty and the Beast_, but with less hair and no French people."

Then, out of nowhere, her eyes looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets. "Wait a minute—what are you still _doing_ here?"

I sunk down a little in my chair. "I didn't know you wanted me to leave."

"No. Jonesy is out scoping the mall for Jude's next potential girlfriend—and you're just sitting there, letting it happen!" She grabbed my upper arm and yanked me to my feet. Her grasp tightened as she pulled me in the direction Jonesy had gone with Jude. "It's time for a love intervention."


	5. The Love Intervention

_A/N: Another speedy update! I'm a little proud of myself. Anyway, I'm sorry if this chapter is a bit brief, but I promise the next one will be up soon. As always, happy reading!_

* * *

**J****en's death-grip of my math homework was nothing compared to Caitlin's chokehold on my arm.** I even tried distracting her by announcing fake sales at the stores we passed, but she continued to pull me closer to our final destination. She almost stopped once outside of this one shoe store, but then we could hear Jonesy laughing and she started walking again. I didn't have the guts to ask her what she planned on doing, but I knew it had something to do with Jude—and that was all it took for me to start sweating profusely.

We stopped a couple steps away from the mall's gigantic water fountain. In the near distance, Jonesy was pulling various girls over to tell them Jude was available, but most of them looked completely uninterested. Once, this pretty blonde girl looked like she might've said yes to a date, if Jude hadn't burped right in her face when she tried whispering something in his ear.

They weren't having any better luck when Caitlin pulled me to the floor; both of us crouched down behind a gigantic flowerpot. She put her hands on my shoulders, narrowed her eyes, and began instructing me on my mission. "Okay. This is your moment of truth. Go over there and ask Jude on a date."

My kneecaps turned to Jell-O. Thank God I was sitting down at the time. "Gee, Caitlin . . . I really don't know about this."

"What's not to know? It's easy. Just ask him to go to a movie with you, or on a dinner date at El Sportos. Maybe you'd even have fun at the mall's amusement park—it'd be really romantic if he won you a prize at one of those booths." Caitlin shook her head to rattle her thoughts back into the right place. "Now get over there!"

I ran a nervous hand through my hair. "Do I really have to?"

"You don't _have_ to, but who knows if you'll ever get a chance again? Jude can get really . . . attached when he likes a girl. If Jonesy sets him up with someone and it goes well, he might not be single again for a long time." She gave me an encouraging grin. "You _do _want to kiss him, don't you?"

It took me a moment before I could answer; I nearly hyperventilated at the mere thought of our lips making contact. ". . . Yeah."

"Well, that's never going to happen if you don't go over there." She stood up and forced me to my feet. "I'll be back here the whole time for support, okay?"

I sighed. There was no use fighting when she obviously wasn't going to give up any time soon. "Fine, but if I pass out from embarrassment, I'm blaming it on you."

* * *

**I glanced back at Caitlin one more time before heading over to my doom.** I forced my feet to move as slowly as possible; I wasn't exactly overjoyed to be doing this, so there was no reason to hurry. I gave myself a quick once-over to make sure my skirt wasn't ruffled or my hair a complete mess, then checked the time in my locket to see how much explaining I'd have to do to Shirley for being late. Luckily, my shift wasn't going to start for a few more minutes, so at least I could write off one pressure.

However, once I looked back over to the little fountain congregation, the pressure seeped back in. Tension began to collect at the base of my neck, my stomach started to flutter, and my kneecaps turned back into their gelatinous former selves. I was surprised to make it over to the group without falling flat on my face.

"Uh, hey guys." I faintly greeted from behind them. Maybe they wouldn't notice me.

Both of them turned around, Jude giving me a huge smile. However, neither of them spoke. I guessed they were waiting for me to say something, so I added, "I need to talk to Jude about something."

Jonesy bent down a little so he could whisper in my ear, "Do you have to talk to him right now? We're kind of in the middle of something."

For some reason, I really didn't have a problem being confident around him. "This is urgent."

"Like 'one of Caitlin's shopping sprees' urgent, or 'a family member just died' urgent?"

"'So many family members died I'm an orphan' urgent."

He rolled his eyes. "Well, you'd better hurry up. There's no telling how soon the next potential hottie will show up."

I gave him a dismissive nod and motioned for Jude to follow me over to the other bench in front of the fountain. For what I was about to do, I wanted as much privacy as possible.

* * *

**It was all cool until Jude opened his mouth.** "What's up, bra?"

My mind went blank. I looked into his eyes, as blue and endless as Puerto Rico's waters and as starry as the unpolluted midnight sky of rural America. My tongue rolled back and super-glued itself to my trachea. My cheeks filled with blood that threatened to burst through my pores if I stared any longer. Still, I couldn't pull myself away—not when every look into his eyes was like basking in Caribbean sunlight with the taste of a virgin piña colada on my tongue.

I must've been staring longer than I'd thought; he waved a hand in front of my face. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Well, at least I managed to get one word out. For my own safety, I diverted my eyes to the gushing fountain while I spoke. "I was just wondering if maybe . . . you know, if you're not doing anything later . . . if maybe you'd . . . ."

I checked to see if he was paying attention in spite of my rambling. His eyes, which had been focused on my face, locked with mine as soon as I looked back—and like a pre-programmed train wreck, my brain disengaged. Not only did my frontal lobe freeze up, but every other lobe went numb as well. I couldn't remember a single place Caitlin had suggested, and I could hardly remember how to spell my own name.

In a frantic race for intelligent speech, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. ". . . Like to teach me to skateboard."

His eyes lit up like the blazing sun on a Puerto Rican afternoon. "Of course, dudette! We can start whenever you want."

"How about now?"

"Sure!"

My heart flittered with excitement until Jonesy said, "Jude! Is skateboarding really that important right now?"

"Is sunlight important for rocks to breathe?" he asked indignantly.

Jonesy gave him a blank stare. "Uh . . . no."

"Well, if it was, I'd be like a suffocating sandstone without this board." He picked up his board, grabbed my wrist, and began pulling me in an obscure direction. Over his shoulder, he called back to Jonesy, "Sorry, dude, but I need to take this rock into the sunlight so she can breathe."

I wasn't sure if being called a rock was supposed to be an insult—in fact, I wasn't really sure of anything Jude just said. But that was normal. You see, I'd found out over the past few weeks of talking with him that sometimes, the things he said could be extremely confusing, especially when he was attempting to make an analogy. He once compared the gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe to a light bulb . . . yeah, I'm still trying to figure that one out.

As we passed by the flowerpot, I realized Caitlin was probably going to be fairly upset with me for not asking him on a date. However, I did manage to snag Jude away from all those girls before any of them had a chance to ask him, so that must've counted for something.

Besides, what if I'd asked and he said no? Then our friendship would just be awkward, because every time we hung out, he'd be thinking about how much I like him. It was better to just let things happen naturally—which meant me keeping my mouth shut and my hormones in check. Right now, I needed to focus on the truly important stuff . . . oh, and did I mention he had his hand on my wrist?


	6. Marisol, Meet George

_A/N: Sorry this chapter took a bit longer than the previous ones, but hopefully, it will be worth the wait. Also, if anyone would like to check it out, I have a picture of Marisol posted online that I drew at this URL: .com/art/Marisol-Mendoza-129995017_

_There's a link to Zac's picture on that page, too. Anyway, happy reading! _

* * *

**That excitement I was talking about earlier** . . . yeah, it kind of faded the minute I realized what I'd just agreed to do. Let me recap, just in case your memory needs refreshing: I just told Jude I wanted to learn how to skateboard—_me_, the most balance-impaired thing to grace the earth since Humpty Dumpty fell off that wall. My mom had tried improving my lack of coordination by enrolling me in gymnastics when I was younger, but she decided to pull me out after I broke my ankle walking over to the balance beam. Not walking _on _the balance beam, mind you . . . I sort of just tripped on my way there.

Honestly, if I had difficulty moving on solid ground, what really made me think I'd be okay on wheels?

_You _weren't_ thinking_, I chastised myself. _You were too busy making googley eyes and wiping the drool off your chin. All you can do now is hope you don't kill yourself._

". . . mind?"

Jude was trying to talk to me. I started to blush. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

"What made you change your mind?"

"I'm not quite sure," I admitted while secretly planning an escape route.

"Well, I'm glad you did. You look like a chick who's in dire need of some good old R and R . . . luckily, the skater's life is perfect for the job."

Dangerous, complicated, and adrenaline-rushing? Yes, that sounds like the skateboarding I've heard of. But relaxing? Never would've thought of that one.

I was brought back into the present by the unpleasant rush of cold metal whacking me in the face. I stumbled back, my vision blurred with wet tears and head dizzy from the impact. I could feel something sickeningly warm and thick beginning to leak from my nose, and I realized it was bleeding. I cupped the throbbing facial extremity in my hand and tried to ignore my cheeks as they flushed from humiliation.

"Whoops! Sorry, bra. I thought you were gonna open it." I could hear Jude's voice from behind me, but I didn't dare look at him while my nose was gushing. Instead, I kept my tearing eyes on the metal door I'd just walked into. At least I didn't leave a dent.

"Hey, are you all right?" he asked when I didn't move.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I answered from beneath my hand, but my words came out muffled.

He didn't believe me. I knew this because he walked up to me and tried getting a look at my face. I could feel blood beginning to pour down my chin and seep out from in-between my fingers. It didn't take him long to figure out what I'd done to myself.

"Whoa!" He quickly opened the door and put a hand on my shoulder to guide me into the room. "I'll get you something for that. Just stay right there!"

I wanted to wipe off the tears that began streaming down my cheeks, but I didn't want any blood to drip onto my shirt if I moved my hand. Consequently, I had no choice but to let Jude see me crying and bleeding while I waited for him to look for a tissue. I practically snatched it out of his hand when he'd finally found it; I was hoping I'd be able to clean myself up before he noticed, even though that was impossible.

I had to pinch my nose for at least ten minutes before the bleeding stopped. I always wondered why my mom hadn't gotten my nostrils cauterized when I was younger; that would've avoided a lot of messy accidents. You see, I may have hit my nose this time, but I've also gotten nosebleeds from pinching my nose too hard, looking down too long, and doing nothing at all. Sometimes, I wished my nose didn't have any blood vessels, just so it wouldn't bleed so much.

"How's your nose?" That was Jude.

"It still hurts a little, but I think it's done bleeding." I lifted the tissue gently from my nose, and sure enough, it was finished. Thank God.

"Awesome."

I walked over to the wastebasket to throw out my tissue and took a gander at the room around me. It looked like some sort of garage, and judging by the huge zamboni to my right, we were probably near the ice rink. I had no idea why Jude would want to go into the garage behind the ice rink . . . that is, until I remembered that he was the designated zamboni driver.

He must've noticed me staring at the ice-resurfacing machine. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

"She does look well kept," I said with a nod.

"Well, I've gotta take this lady out for a spin before we start our lesson. It's been a few hours since I last smoothed out the ice, so there's probably a nice amount of cracks that need filling in."

He pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and clicked a button. A second later, the garage door leading toward the ice rink started opening. Then, Jude hopped up into the zamboni's driver seat and smiled back at me. "You wanna ride with me? It's not an actual seat, but there's room here on the other side of the controls."

Do I really even need to tell you how I answered?

* * *

**The entire process took a while, but I didn't mind. **Jude explained what each lever and button did, and also asked if I knew that zambonis don't have breaks (I didn't). Apparently, all you have to do is take your foot off the gas pedal, and the monstrous machine stops on its own. I was really impressed by how well he seemed to concentrate, too; even though I was staring hard-core almost the whole time, he operated the metal beast like an expert. He didn't seem to mind that I was watching him instead of the ice, too, so that was a plus.

However, when we were making our final round on the ice rink, I felt like someone was watching us. I peered over to the stands and almost slipped off my seat. There, behind the dashers and glass, was Jonesy. Our eyes connected as soon as I looked over, and he gave me a disappointed headshake paired with narrowed eyes. Something told me he knew _exactly_ what I was up to.

I gulped, took a deep breath, and tried to block the image of his face out of my mind for the remainder of my zamboni experience.

* * *

**My day with Jude seemed to be going smoothly so far (aside from that nosebleed)**, so I decided not to mention Jonesy's espionage. Instead, I followed Jude to the skate park, which seemed to have swelled in size since my last visit, and tried to keep the butterflies in my stomach from creeping out of their chrysalises a while longer. When the imaginary insects continued to morph, I settled for looking as eager as possible—even though every fiber of my being was screaming otherwise.

We stopped at a fairly remote part of the skate park, which made sense; the farther away from people we stayed, the fewer chances I had to crash into someone. Jude cleared his throat and held up his board for me to see. I stared in awe. "Now, we'll get you your own board soon, but I think Sally will do just fine for this lesson."

I quirked an eyebrow. "'Sally'?"

"Yup. She's one smokin' hot babe." He grinned while stroking the top of his board. I guess Zac, whose guitar was named Beulah, isn't the only guy who names inanimate objects. I mouthed the word "oh" and Jude continued.

"Anyway, I want to make sure you understand the anatomy of a skateboard before you hit the pavement. 'Cause, y'know, if you're having trouble, we need to be able to communicate."

I tried to look disappointed that I wasn't going to be skating yet, but I could still feel the corners of my lips creeping up. "Okay. Teach me."

I think I remember most of what he said, so here it goes:

The entire board is referred to as the deck. The front is called the nose and the back is the tail. On the bottom of the board, there are two trucks. The trucks can be broken down into base plates, kingpins, bushings, and hangars. The wheels go on an axle—located on both sides of each truck—and the actual wheel is made of a washer, bearing, and spacer. If your grip tape (that's on the part you put your feet on) gets chipped or worn down, you might fall off due to lack of traction. Furthermore, it's important to keep your bearings clean and dent-free for maximum speed when skating. Bearings also come in lots of colors, so I can feel free to get creative. Actually, I could get very creative, because there's an entire industry dedicated to deck design; Jude's deck, for example, had flames. Even the grip tape can be customized, if you want . . . .

. . . . Well, that was fun.

Needless to say, my head was spinning once he was finished. Not only did he tell me each part's name, but he also took the time to explain their functions and overall importance to the entire board. I was able to spare you most of the agony, as I can't remember what _every_ part does, but you get the gist of it. Jude also went through a stringent "board hygiene" routine and gave me a list of stores in and near the mall that would help me with board maintenance.

The names of the stores were scribbled on a piece of notebook paper. I folded it in a few pieces and shoved it in my pocket before giving Jude a smile. "Thanks."

"No problem, bra." He cracked a huge grin. "Now, here comes the fun part. I can't let you ride Sally—I'm kind of protective of her—but I do have a loaner board you can use."

A different skateboard seemed to appear in his hands from out of nowhere. He widened his infectious smile. "I picked him up when we went to the ice rink. I like to call him 'George.'"

I was positive at least one of my heart's chambers had closed up and my lungs were failing me. Maybe if I kept the conversation light, my vital organs would resume their functions. "What if I just watched _you_ skate for another day? I'm more of a visual learner."

"Oh, no. You can't back out now, bra." Jude's entire face tensed, his smile erased and replaced with a tight line. "Don't let your fear of the unknown overpower the board's calling. He's calling you."

"The board—George—is calling me?" Okay, Jude was cute, but . . . all of this was a bit . . . out there.

"See? You're so afraid you can't hear him. Here, take a listen." He handed me the board, holding my hand in place as I pushed the grip tape against my ear. "You hear it? He's saying, 'Ride me, Marisol. A future of nose-grinds and ollies awaits you.'"

The only future I saw involved me being hospitalized in the ICU. I bit my lip and pulled the skateboard away from my face. "I honestly can't hear a thing, Jude. Maybe I'm just not cut out for 'the skater's life.'"

"Oh, man. It's worse than I thought." He let out a long, heavy sigh as worry lines creased his forehead. He tightened his grip on Sally, placed a hand on my shoulder, and shook his head. "Dudette, before we even think about teaching you to skate, you need to undergo some _serious_ mellow de-harshing."

His words made my entire brain feel like it'd been reduced to goo. I feigned comprehension. ". . . Okay. Marshmallows sound pretty good right now—but not the sugarcoated ones. They mess my stomach up."

"No, your '_mellow_.' Someone's been harshing all over it, and it's got you totally bummed out and uptight. We need to act fast, before it becomes a permanent state of mind." He took my hand and started leading me of the skate park. "But we can pick up some marshmallows, too. They sound really good right now."

* * *

**Jude's idea of de-harshing my mellow** (which, I figured out, just meant I needed to relax) consisted of playing several unbelievably gory games at the arcade. Once I successfully killed my first enemy soldier on a virtual battlefield—after _being_ killed 60 times—I was able to convince Jude that computer-generated warfare wasn't helping me. So, we headed over to Spin This, where Jude had me listen to the latest Mighty Weasels album through those music-preview machines. While I like rock, the raspy, hard-as-nails voice, blaring drums, and heavy bass certainly didn't help me relax—in fact, I started to develop a minor headache. Growing disappointed, Jude carted me over to his last resort: Craze-Z-Beds.

As the name suggests, this store specializes in everything needed to make your bedroom more comfortable. They sell an assortment of mattresses, from those with cheap metal springs to the $3,000 Tempur-Pedic ones. There are many different styles of headboards, too, as well as designer pillows with 600-thread-count pillowcases. My case was so severe, however, Jude towed me over to the most expensive bed in existence: the Sleep-A-Tron 5000.

"'This brand of mattress is preferred by the Queen of England,'" Jude read aloud from the bed's display tag. "Wow. This is one special bed."

I rolled my eyes and checked out the price tag. My throat constricted. "For that price, God himself had better sleep on this bed."

"Well, you don't have to buy it, bra. You just need to sleep on it." Jude nudged my arm. "Give it a try."

"You want me to sleep . . . here?" What if I made a funny face while I slept? What if I had that reoccurring dream, where Jude and I . . . oh God, what if I talked in my sleep when I had that dream? The last thing I wanted him to hear was my groaning and sighing his name.

"Yeah. I'll keep watch, in case that mall cop dude comes by." He gave me an encouraging smile and patted the mattress. "You know you want to."

Despite my better judgment, I felt myself giving in. "It does look really comfy."

"Come on, dudette." His smile was starting to wear on me.

"Oh, fine. What have I got to lose, right?" Nothing, if you don't count my dignity, my sanity, and perhaps my mall privileges if that security guard caught me snoozing. Not to mention I was probably going to be fired from the Slush Shop; I was more than an hour late, and Shirley had already saved my butt more than once for tardiness.

_Might as well screw up all the way or not at all_, I thought sarcastically. However, as soon as I laid a hand on the mattress, a buzzer went off. Some guy with a British accent said in his automated, monotone voice, "Germs detected. Remove contaminated object or alarm will sound in ten seconds. Ten, nine, eight . . . ."

I jerked my hand away and looked back at Jude. "Why didn't it complain when you touched the bed?"

"I dunno," he responded with a shrug of his shoulders. "Maybe your hands are dirty."

"No. My hands are _always_ clean; I carry around hand sanitizer on this emergency keychain, for crying out loud!" I whipped out the tiny bottle as proof, and Jude shrugged again.

"Let's just find another bed," he offered. "They can't all have British, germaphobic alarm systems."

Jude settled on a king-sized canopy bed near the back of the store, where no one was likely to see us. Cream-colored, silk drapes spilled over the top of the canopy bed, enclosing the actual bed in a sea of satin extravagance. I parted the drapes to find a lush maroon sheet set adorning the bed, and with a quick touch of my fingertips, I identified the fabric as faux fur. As tacky as that sounds, it felt like I was petting a cat as I ran my fingers across the bed; the experience couldn't have been more luxurious. I could definitely catch some well-deserved Z's on a bed like this . . . but I still wasn't feeling too great.

I closed the drapes and rubbed the back of my neck nervously. "Do I really have to sleep?"

"Nah, I guess not. You just need to chill out." He smiled and peeked in at the bed. "Man, I'm starting to feel pretty wiped out myself."

Before I knew it, Jude was reclined on the bed, his head resting on one of the pillows while he grinned up toward the silk canopy above him. He caught me holding the drapes open, staring at him in his comfort. That easy smile of his slinked its way back across his lips, and he gestured to the open section of mattress next to him.

No way I was getting on that bed now—not with him on there. I rummaged through my mental filing cabinets for a viable excuse. "What if someone sees us?"

"We're at the back of the store, in a sea of canopy beds. No one's going to notice." I knew he was right.

"I'm not really tired," I lied, even though I was drained from extensive lab reports and mind-boggling mathematical equations. Then, Jude yawned . . . and a few seconds later, I felt one escape my lips as well.

I felt him looking at me, labeling me a liar, so I decided to just give in before my image was ruined completely. "Fine, but I'm not going to sleep . . . I'll just relax for a little while."

"That's all you need to do, dudette."

I eased my way onto the mattress, careful not to make it creak too much and draw attention to our corner of the store. I took a quick scan of the area to make sure no one was watching, and then I let out a deep breath. My head sunk back into the pillows almost too easily, and I felt the tension drain out of my pores and evaporate into the air. I heard Jude's breathing fall into that soft, steady pace common of sleeping, and my own eyelids were starting to grow heavy.

Seconds later, my world shifted into black, dreamless sleep.


	7. Curly Fries and Murdered Lemons

_A/N: Sorry it took so long to update this time. I've been focusing more on my deviantART account, so I kind of had to put this story on the backburner for a little while. Regardless, I hope this chapter was worth the wait. Happy reading!_

* * *

**It felt like I'd only been asleep for a few minutes when I began to slip out of dreamland. **However, I was too tired to care why I woke up and just decided to keep my eyes locked tight, unwilling to move from such a comfortable napping position. I went to burrow my face deeper into my pillow and heard Jude mumble. That should've set off a signal in my brain, but naturally, I just thought he talked in his sleep.

Then, I felt two arms hug me tighter to my pillow, which smelled vaguely of the cologne Zac usually wears when he's trying to impress a girl. The pillow was warm beneath my face and seemed to move steadily up and down in tune with my breathing, as if it had a heartbeat of its own. I ran my fingers lightly across the pillow, wanting to wrap myself in the softness of its fabric.

The pillow sighed.

My mind frenzied as I suddenly became aware of the situation at hand. This pillow . . . it was _Jude_! My face was nestled in his chest, his arms keeping me snugly against him as my own arms remained wrapped around his waist. We must've rolled around in our sleep and tangled ourselves up in each other.

Now, any normal girl would probably be delighted to wake up and find that she'd been cuddling with her crush. I, on the other hand, was terrified. How was he going to react when he woke up and saw us hugging the daylights out of each other? He'd probably scream and scramble away from me. I'd be humiliated, not to mention my hair would be a right mess. My short-lived life would be over . . . unless, of course, I found a way to get myself un-intertwined before he woke.

_Marisol, you're a genius!_ I praised myself before going to work.

I took a deep breath and began trying to slip out of his arms. I had one arm completely off of me when he suddenly gripped me tighter than ever before. I could feel my ribs threatening to poke a hole through a lung, and my head grew cloudy from the lack of oxygen. Just when I thought I was going to pass out, he eased up.

_This isn't working_. I was just about to resort to tickling him when I heard the blare of an unidentifiable siren puncture my eardrums. This time, Jude woke up and nearly fell off the bed. I parted the curtains on my side to find myself face-to-face with that crusty, old mall cop.

"Is there a problem, sir?" I have a knack for getting away with stuff by acting innocent, so I figured I'd give it a shot.

No such luck. "Mall security tapes show you and your accomplice entered this store an hour ago and have yet to leave."

I smiled nervously. "Oh, we were just testing out the merchandise, making sure it was a quality mattress suitable for this mall's loyal customers. It certainly has _my_ stamp of approval."

Jude crawled over to my side of the bed and poked his head through the crack in the curtains. He saw the mall security officer and smiled. "Good afternoon, Mr. Rent-a-Cop Dude. What brings you to our humble naptime paradise?"

"Vacate the premises before I resort to using force, maggots!"

I quirked an eyebrow and looked over his utility belt. "What are you going to use? I don't see a gun, a nightstick, or even a lousy flashlight . . ."

He snarled, and I half-expected him to start growling. "Now!"

Jude and I jumped up from the bed and rushed outside, both of us trying not to chuckle. Once we realized we'd lost him, we let out some much-needed laughter, and I felt surprisingly light. Unfortunately, as soon as the giggles faded, I slouched against a wall, my head throbbing from being woken up in the middle of much-needed sleep. Jude leaned against the wall next to me, staring at something in the distance with obvious interest.

"Hey, isn't that the girl you work with?"

My heart cramped up in my chest, and I was almost too afraid to look. I tried to be brave. Of course, I promptly regretted trying to be brave as soon as I saw her.

* * *

**Shirley's pin-straight blonde hair was frizzy and littered with French fries, along with an old pretzel.** Her apron was slathered in assorted vibrant colors, ranging from Day-Glo blue to artificial-cherry red and neon orange. Dried mustard crusted the side of her jaw and a corn dog seemed to be glued to her shirt. Her mascara was running, her lipstick smeared, but most important—and most horrific—those brand new pink boots she'd been saving for were splattered with ketchup. It had taken her two months' paychecks to buy those—and she'd just gotten them this morning.

She was heading in my direction, her icy blue eyes blasting bullet holes through my bulging brown ones. I vaguely wondered if Jude would be up to letting me use him as a shield, but I had a feeling he'd decline the offer. Shirley was about the same size as me, but whereas my arms were delicate, hers were pure muscle. I conveniently remembered her telling me she'd been kickboxing since she was eight.

Suddenly, she was right in front of me. I felt like a little cartoon mouse huddled up in a corner, its tiny whiskers twitching as a bloodthirsty, gargantuan house cat stared it down. However, instead of squealing and hiding my face in anticipation of her fist connecting with my nose, I felt a sudden burst of confidence . . . and then defeat. "I know. I'm fired."

She opened her mouth to say something but changed her mind, spinning around on her heel and heading back to the Slush Shop. I noticed a curly fry was shmooshed onto a pocket on the back of her jeans. Then, I felt Jude's voice glide over my ears, reminding me of his presence.

"Bummer. That seemed like a pretty sweet job, too."

I shrugged. "It was all right. I'm sure I'll find something else." Eagerness rushed over me and I cracked a smile. "Besides, now I have more time to spend with you."

"Riiiight," a grin inched its way across his lips as he nodded. "Now we have the whole day to skate . . . sweet."

That eagerness quickly faded. "Yeah . . . now I can skateboard for hours." _Good Lord, somebody help me._

"Well, why don't we get started?" I was beginning to feel guilty about my disinterest. Jude looked genuinely excited to be teaching me his favorite pastime, and here I was scheming up ways to get out of it. Even if it meant I'd fracture my skull, I was determined not to come off as rude.

"Sure." I wanted to stall—I couldn't help it. "But first, can we stop by the lemon? I'm really thirsty."

"Good idea. You should never ride on an empty stomach . . . or with a dry mouth."

You probably shouldn't ride without a helmet either, but that safety precaution didn't seem as important to Jude . . . in fact, _no_ safety precautions seemed important to him. That uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach returned, but I just ignored it and followed Jude to the Big Squeeze, planning to stall as long as possible.

* * *

**As soon as we arrived at the behemoth fruit, my stomach dropped to my toenails and heart went into a spasm.** There was Caitlin behind the counter, cheerfully reading the latest edition of _CosmoGirl_, a straw between her lips as she occasionally sipped some of her lemonade. Wyatt told me she was usually easy to get along with, but she was also prone to overreacting at the slightest hint of catastrophe. I also knew from just talking to her over the past few weeks that she deemed dating to be a crucial element of any teenager's social life. She practically dived down my throat when I told her I hadn't had a date in over a year. To me, that just meant I'd rather focus on schoolwork than have the responsibility of a relationship—to her, it meant I must be on drugs, because no sober person would stay away from the dating scene for that long.

Her volatile temperament and views on romance, along with my failure to ask Jude out, definitely couldn't be a good combination.

She waited until Jude had wandered off with Jonesy to pull a prank on the mall cop before she brought the subject up. "So, you guys have been gone for quite some time." She leaned forward on her elbows, her eyes sparkling and grin expectant.  
"It must've been an awesome date."

I took half a step away from the lemon's counter, just in case she tried grabbing for me. "Actually, we weren't on a date."

She didn't seem alarmed, but her curiosity heightened and eyes accused. "You guys were just hanging out . . . before your date tonight?"

I glanced around to make sure Jude was still out of hearing range before continuing. "I don't have a date tonight."

She was trying not to freak out, but I could tell she was tempted. "Tomorrow?"

I bit my lip and almost didn't tell her. "I didn't ask him out."

She froze. "Then . . . what have you been doing for the past two hours?"

"I sort of told him I wanted to learn how to skateboard. We're only over here to take a short break."

There it was: that evil monster Wyatt warned me about. Caitlin instantly tensed up, her shoulders rigid and eye twitching. She raised the lemon she'd been holding and clenched her fist around it, squirting lemon juice onto her apron and completely crushing the defenseless fruit. She grabbed another lemon and a knife, and I gulped as she brought the blade down to chop the fruit in two. I envisioned my throat in place of the lemon, then my face as she squeezed the life out of the slices, added sugar, and turned on the blender. She poured herself a glass and took a swig before locking her green eyes on me.

"How could you do that?" Instead of angry, her voice teetered between disappointed and whiny. "You had the perfect set up. You realize that means he's still available, in case another girl is interested—right?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "How do I know _he's_ interested? I was going to ask him, but . . . what if he doesn't like me the way I like him? Then, every time we hang out, he's going to be thinking about how much I like him and how much he doesn't like me, and I'm going to be thinking about how much he doesn't like me and how much I really like him, and everything will just be so awkward for both of us until—"

"You're rambling again."

I sighed. "Sorry."

She shook her head. "You have a point, though."

". . . . I do?"

"Sure. If you get rejected, your friendship will become totally weird and awkward." She quickly disposed of her apron and pulled the top down on the Big Squeeze, stepping out from behind the counter and grabbing my arm. "This love intervention isn't finished. You're going to tell Jude to continue your lesson, and I'm going to watch for the tell-tale signs of attraction."

In other words: "You're going to spy on us to see if he likes me?"

"Yes, but I'll be very discreet; you won't even know I'm there." We were gaining on Jonesy and Jude, so she began hurrying her speech and lowering her voice. "Just act natural. If he likes you, I'll be able to tell—and then, you can ask him out without any fear of rejection."

She stopped suddenly. "Wait . . . shouldn't you go tell that girl you work with that you'll be a while?"

I shook my head. "She fired me a few minutes ago. Turns out the Slush Shop was really busy during that two hour break I took earlier."

"Ooh, that's bad," she said with a wince. Jonesy turned to wave at us, and she nudged my arm. "Okay. Go over there and play it cool."

I sighed. No matter how hard I tried to "play it cool," I was sure things would still turn out to be awkward. Guess it was time to find out.


	8. The Love Intervention, Continued

_A/N: Sorry I took an unbelievably long time posting this chapter; it's amazing how busy my senior year of high school can get, especially since I have such little motivation to do anything. Anyway, this chapter is by far the longest, so hopefully that makes up for it a little bit. Regardless, happy reading and thank you so much for your patience!

* * *

_

**The déjà vu was almost enough to slay me as I found myself tearing Jude away from Jonesy again.** I waited next to the fountain and watched while Jonesy snuck into the rent-a-cop's office, Jude keeping watch from the outside. Jonesy pulled what looked to be a screwdriver out of his pocket and quickly loosened a few of the bolts on the rent-a-cop's swivel chair. Both Jude and Jonesy were a giggling mess as we waited by the fountain until the mall cop came back to his office.

We were some distance away from his office, but we were still close enough to see the events unfold. As always, the mall cop's expression was somber and controlled, as if his duties at the Galleria Mall were as dire as those in the armed forces. He calmly bent down to sit in his chair when the seat gave out from beneath him. His face contorted in shock as he tumbled to the ground, the top part of the chair completely disconnected from the wheeled bottom. He recovered quickly and looked in our direction with a seething glare. Jude and Jonesy were too busy laughing to notice.

"Dude, that was sick!" I'd never heard Jude laugh so hard before. He must've really liked getting on the rent-a-cop's nerves.

"I got the idea from Mariquita here," he replied as he nudged my arm. "Some kid in school pulled it on a substitute once, right?"

"Yeah," I nodded as I reminisced my freshman days. "Ninth grade, Chemistry. The sub had left the room to call security so someone could go to the bathroom, since we weren't allowed to have a sub sign our hall passes. She was a big lady, too."

"Must've been pretty awesome," Jude commented after the wave of laughter had subsided.

I shrugged with a smile. It was relatively funny at the time, but the angry note the substitute left our teacher, Mr. Wilkins, was another story. The next day, Mr. Wilkins' voice nearly ruptured my eardrums. I haven't been able to hear the same since.

"Anyway, something tells me you didn't come all the way over here just to watch us prank the rent-a-cop." I braced myself for Jonesy's reference to my zamboni ride—I _knew_ he saw me—but luckily, he avoided the topic. "Does Jude have another appointment with you?"

I didn't even need to open my mouth; Jude stole the words right off my tongue, only with much more excitement. "Oh, man! Your skating lesson!"

"You guys still haven't gotten to that? Mariquita could've gone pro already." Good to know Caitlin wasn't the only one who thought we were wasting time.

Jude hurriedly grabbed the boards, which were leaning against the fountain, and handed me George. "We've gotta get to it right now."

He quickly seized my wrist and tugged me along, leading me again in an obscure direction like some kind of leashed puppy. Not that I'm complaining about the contact—he had really soft hands.

* * *

**"Where are we?"** I knew we were in the mall . . . well, maybe not the Galleria Mall, but definitely a mall. There were plenty of nondescript shoppers scurrying to dozens of nondescript stores, drinking lemonade from a nondescript food court . . . which was somewhere in the near distance, judging from the scent of freshly cooked pizza. There were plenty of benches and fake fichu (a.k.a., more than one fichus) to turn the place into an artificial park. Still, none of that helped me identify where in God's name Jude had taken me.

"The mall, third floor." That explained it. I'd never ventured past the second floor; the Big Squeeze had been on the first floor, and the Slush Shop on the second. I didn't get much roaming time between shifts, so the rest of the mall was pretty much a mystery.

"Isn't this place kind of . . . crowded?" I asked cautiously while scoping the place out. Before Jude had a chance to answer, a lady with a stroller wide enough to hold quadruplets nearly took me out. Fortunately, I jumped out of the way just in time.

"Yeah, but we're almost to the deserted end of the mall." He began walking forward and motioned for me to follow. I nodded and took a few steps before being lost in a sea of people. When the traffic died down and I finally found Jude, I latched onto his wrist.

Upon arriving at our final destination, I realized Jude wasn't kidding when he called the place "deserted." There must've been two functioning stores and ten for rent, and the only reason people even ventured down there was to check the directory. Once the lost shoppers found the place they _actually_ wanted to be, they ran off and never looked back. Their fright was perfectly understandable; I wouldn't want to be anywhere near me with a skateboard, either.

All kidding aside, it was an ideal place for skating. The fichus pots and benches provided makeshift rails, and the low circulation of traffic meant less unwanted obstacles. The rent-a-cop didn't seem to monitor the place too closely, either, so there wasn't much risk of getting a ticket for "unlawful skating." Not to mention the skate park was almost always crowded with people who actually knew how to skate, so by Jude taking _me_ someplace else, he was inadvertently saving dozens of lives.

"Now, down to business," Jude announced, breaking me from my usual daydreaming. "Before you step foot on a board, we need to work on your stance."

After a few tests, he decided that I was "regular," as opposed to "goofy" (apparently, it has to do with the way you stand on the skateboard). He was regular, too, so the idea was it'd be easier for him to teach me . . . but that's assuming I'd be able to grasp even the slightest amount of information. Then, he said we needed to find my center of balance . . . at which point I began to freak as horrible memories of yoga class came flooding back.

"I really don't think that's a good idea," I tried reasoning with him for his own sake. "The last time someone tried to help me balance, she had a nervous breakdown." Poor yoga instructor.

"No worries. It takes a lot to harsh my mellow—and besides, if you don't learn how to balance, you'll never be able to skate."

_In that case, you might as well call it quits right now_, I thought to myself, even though I knew that wasn't possible. I'd gotten myself into this situation, and there was no dignified way out of it. I took a final deep breath, forced back the tears, and said, "Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you."

* * *

**"Like this?" **I felt so awkward, with my left foot near the nose of the board and my right foot planted firmly on the ground. I tried keeping my knees as rigid as possible, to lessen the chance that I'd slide away.

"Perfecto, dudette," Jude encouraged with a smile, framing me with his hands the way a director does before shooting a scene in a film. "Now, gain some speed by gaining ground. Push off with your right foot a few times, and then let it join your left foot on the board."

I blanched. "I have to move?"

He quirked an eyebrow and gave me a peculiar look. " . . . Yeah. You're not really skating until you feel that rush."

I probably didn't want to know, but . . . "What rush?"

"Oh, yeah," he crooned with a wistful grin and hazy eyes. "That fluttery feeling in the pit of your stomach, the rush of adrenaline as the blood pushes faster through your veins, the lightheaded ecstasy as you lift off the ground and go flying like a bird on wheels through the air. It's amazing."

"You really love skating." That guilty feeling was beginning to return. "What if I don't get that rush?"

"Then it just wasn't meant to be," he shrugged. Then, he flashed a grin. "But you'll never know until you try."

You're probably expecting me to come up with some other insane excuse as to why I can't go through with this, but surprisingly, I decided to face my fears. I owed it to Jude to give it a shot—after all, he'd wasted a whole day with me, and he'd never get those hours back. Might as well make the time spent worthwhile, right?

"Okay, I'll do it."

There went that irresistible smile again. "Awesome! Just skate down to me, and remember what I told you." With that, he ran about five stores' length from me and stood beside a fichus. He gave me two thumbs up, which I took as an equivalent to "all systems go."

I took one last deep breath and relaxed my knees. "Here goes nothing."

I pushed off the linoleum with my right foot and began moving a few inches. I pushed off again . . . and again . . . and again until I could feel a slight gust of air beginning to brush my bangs across my forehead. Just to be safe, I tried not to focus on how fast I was going, but I couldn't help but notice as the world around me began to blur. Cautiously, I turned my body and brought my right foot up next to my left, both of my feet now perpendicular to the board. I held my arms out instinctively and focused on keeping my center, all while fervently asking God to keep my face from becoming part of the floor. All in all, the entire process was quite complicated and required a lot of begging and pleading with the higher power.

Of course, due to a true stroke of genius, I closed my eyes while I implored for my face's safety—which left me unable to see how fast I was gaining on Jude. It wasn't until I was mere inches from colliding that I opened my eyes, at which point any attempt at retreat would be useless. So, I simply cringed and braced for impact.

Not even a second later was I lying on top of Jude. My board had skidded across the floor and lied with the underside facing the ceiling, its wheels still turning like crazy. I was almost too embarrassed to look at him, but considering the full-on contact currently going on between us, I didn't really have a choice. Luckily, Jude didn't seem annoyed that I'd used him as a landing strip; in fact, he had the goofiest smile on his face.

I ignored it—mostly because it confused me—and focused on the situation at hand. "Sorry. I didn't know how to stop."

"It's all good, dudette. Now we're even."

That's right . . . he crashed right into me the day I'd met him, and he'd been on his skateboard. Of course, I hadn't really minded that time, and I could only imagine the discomfort Jude was experiencing, the full weight of my body crushing him like a bag of cinderblocks.

Still, the boy smiled. "Besides, no one sticks the landing on their first try. It took me a while before I could stop without falling on my face—and I still do that sometimes."

At this point, I was beginning to enjoy being close to him a bit too much. After rising to my feet and helping Jude rise to his, I walked over to George and reclaimed the board. Surprisingly, I hadn't even left a scratch.

"I didn't do as badly as I thought I would," I said under my breath.

I guess that was still loud enough for Jude to hear me. "You didn't do badly at all, dudette. You're a natural."

Me, good at something involving athletics? The same girl who broke her ankle walking across a padded floor and consistently trips over air—yes, that girl apparently has a knack for skateboarding. I guess even complete klutzes get lucky sometimes.

* * *

**Jude and I spent a good while longer skateboarding,** which involved an equal amount of me watching him do something seemingly impossible and me trying to imitate it. My backside was beginning to grow sore from landing on it so many times, but Jude kept assuring me that repetition is the key to success (and it was only my first official day of practice). He even managed to catch me a few times, although those rescues were too few and far between. Luckily, my butt cheeks had remained delightfully bruise-free when I checked later that night. Then again, there's more than enough padding to go around.

Anyway, back to more pressing issues. Throughout our skating rendezvous, I forgot that Caitlin was conducting surveillance on my pathetic excuse for a social life. I finally remembered when I flipped my board (and myself) while trying to avoid a runaway plastic lemon from one of the surrounding stores. I quickly scanned the surrounding fichu and benches, but she was nowhere to be seen. The stores were involved with the retail of plastic fruits, potpourri, and other quaint, obscure items, so I knew she wasn't off shopping. Hopefully, we hadn't lost her to Albatross and Finch on the way to the third floor.

Of course, there was only one way to find out. The only hard part would be breaking away from Jude long enough to talk to Caitlin alone at the Big Squeeze.

* * *

**Thankfully, Jude had to return to the ice rink to make sure the ice hadn't cracked in his absence,** and even though his offer of riding on the zamboni again was inviting, I turned him down. I desperately needed to know Caitlin's relationship advice; all of this platonic time spent with Jude was beginning to wear on me.

When I was close enough to see the gargantuan lemon, I noticed Wyatt was sipping a coffee while relaxing at the table in front of the Big Squeeze. While I hadn't really expected to divulge of Caitlin's guru-like knowledge in his presence, it didn't bother me either. After all, it wasn't like Wyatt didn't know what was going on.

"Hey guys," I greeted casually as I made my way to the counter. Caitlin was busy checking herself out in her compact's mirror.

"Oh, hi, Marisol." She quickly snapped the compact shut and shoved it into her purse, which remained hidden below the counter. "I thought you'd still be out learning to skate with Jude."

"He's teaching you to skateboard—and you haven't been seriously injured?" Wyatt sighed and rubbed the left side of his head, as if trying to soothe a phantom bruise. "Must be nice being so lucky."

"Oh, it wasn't all luck," Caitlin cut in. "Jude kept trying to catch her, and he actually did a few times. It was really cute."

"So you _were_ watching us." I furrowed my brow. "I tried looking for you, but I couldn't find you anywhere."

"I've been doing this sort of thing for a while. I'm practically a professional at camouflage," she explained casually. "Anyway, I watched you guys for a while, but I decided to come back here once I'd collected enough evidence to determine your current situation."

"And that would be . . . ?"

"Oh, he's totally into you." Caitlin pulled out one of her illustrious issues of _CosmoGirl_ and flipped it to an article outlining the many complexities of high school relationships. "He's sent you practically every sign in the book, besides actually asking you out."

I wanted to believe her, but something just didn't sound right. "If he's been sending me so many signs, why haven't I picked up on them?"

"You're probably not used to reading body language. Besides, you've been out of the dating scene for a while, so you might've gotten rusty." She looked up from her magazine and scanned my face for something, then darted her eyes back down to the sacred dating text. "If you don't believe me, there's a whole list of things he's been doing that I could read off for you."

"Works for me."

"Okay . . . well, for one, he couldn't stop smiling around you. And he didn't get distracted at all—all of his attention was focused on you." She shot me a glance to see if she'd convinced me yet, but I still wanted more proof. "He also used practically any excuse to touch you, like grabbing your hand when he led you to the third floor and holding your waist while you tried balancing on the skateboard the first time."

"He was just trying to make sure I didn't fall over," I protested. I looked to Wyatt for backup. "You said he taught you to skateboard. Didn't he help you find your center and correct your stance?"

" . . . No. He had me ride down the railing of the escalator, and after I regained consciousness, he went over everything with a bunch of diagrams." Wyatt leaned back and took another swig of his piping hot caffeine fix. "I definitely think you've got Jude hooked. When he walked by me earlier, instead of that usual lingering odor, I got a whiff of cologne."

Caitlin gasped. "Was it Intense Heat by Calvin Stein?"

"Yeah. That stuff's pretty powerful; if you use more than one spritz, you end up smelling like you bathed in it."

"Oh, this is serious." Caitlin dismissed _CosmoGirl_, threw off her apron and hat, and clamped the top of the lemon shut before reappearing beside me. "Jude's version of hygiene is using deodorant every day and showering whenever his mom starts to complain about it. If he's trying to smell nice for you, not only does he really like you, but he's also getting help from an outside source. Intense Heat is known for its scientifically-proven hypnotic powers, and only someone with experience would think to use that on you."

"Both of you should just admit to being into each other," Wyatt commented as he rose from his seat, his coffee cup now weightless and empty. "If you don't have a date with Jude by closing, I'm asking him out for you."

"Oh, she'll have a date, because she's going to the ice rink and asking him right now," Caitlin nonchalantly responded as she slung her purse's strap over her shoulder.

"I am?" It's strange how other people usually end up making decisions for me, without consulting me first.

"Yes, you are. In the meantime, the Khaki Barn is having a 15-percent off sale on all miniskirts and tank tops."

"I need to get back to work, anyway. Unfortunately, burgers don't flip themselves," Wyatt sighed, and just like that, I was alone in front of the Big Squeeze.

My head was swimming in a sea of advice and orders from my blonde, fashion-conscious, expert shopper friend who also doubled as a love consultant. Luckily, I was able to paddle against the stubborn riptide and push the final few frothy waves from the forefront of my mind just in time to start heading toward the ice rink. Nothing was going to stop me now—not even that bubbly feeling in the pit of my stomach.


	9. Marzipan

_A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update. I've been on summer break, but I've been busy getting stuff figured out for my first year of college, so life's been pretty hectic. Nevertheless, this is the longest chapter I've written so far, so I hope it was worth the wait. As always, happy reading!_

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* * *

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**Wow, I'm already this far in the chapter total and I have yet to ask Jude out?** You guys are extremely patient for staying with me so long. I would've given up on me a long time ago—I mean, seriously, if I like the guy that much, why don't I just say something? You guys are either really interested in what I have to say or simply have nothing better to do. Either way, I'm amazed that I've been able to retain such a large audience (especially since I have a habit of talking in circles).

. . . Ahem. Sorry for the rambling. I was trying to remember where I left off without actually admitting it. However, it seems I ended up doing that anyway, so let's get back to the story:

I probably would've benefited from a shorter walk to the ice rink; the more steps I took toward my final destination, the more reasons I found to turn back. After all, who's to say that Caitlin wasn't simply sugarcoating things for me, and what if Jude really wasn't sending me these supposed "signs" so obvious to everyone else? What if I bared my soul and he ended up just wanting to be friends? Sure, I'd learn to live with the rejection (I wouldn't really have a choice), but sometimes it's easier to adore someone from afar . . . especially if you're risking a perfectly good friendship for a chance at romance.

_Marisol Amor Mendoza, snap out of it_! The voice may have been coming from inside my head, but it certainly wasn't mine. The smooth, deep rumbling of long vocal chords and that genuine boricua accent could only belong to my mother. After all, only _she_ would resort to using my agonizingly hippie middle name when addressing me. I could picture her cocoa eyes gazing at me in disappointment as I struggled to grow a spine.

I sighed. My mind's projection of my mother was right; I needed to shake off this insecurity and go for it. It was about time I—

"Ouch!"

Again, my face and the doors leading to the ice rink exchanged greetings like old friends usually do. I rubbed my nose, uttered a few colorful phrases under my breath, and finally pushed the confounded doors open like a normal person. At least my nose seemed to be done bleeding for the day; my only worry was that it was now red and swollen. Unfortunately, I didn't have enough time to run to the washrooms to check—there was work to be done.

I walked down the aisle between the bleachers to find Jude relaxing in his zamboni while Jonesy leaned against the mammoth ice-polisher instead of reporting to work. They seemed to be talking, but I was too far away to hear anything, and the plexiglass partitions surrounding the rink blocked out whatever whispers I might've been able to make out otherwise. However, once I got close enough to hear them, I ended up crouching down behind the safety wall, out of fear of being seen.

"I don't know, dude." Jonesy was speaking. "She's been Wyatt's pen pal since the seventh grade. There's gotta be something going on between them; she's probably just waiting for him and Marlowe to break up so she can make her move."

Really? Did Jonesy honestly think I'd be that conniving? Even if I did have a thing for Wyatt, I wouldn't wait until he was crushed to "make my move." That's just wrong to do to a friend . . . not to mention it would make me the rebound girl, something I definitely wouldn't want to be.

"Nah, they're just friends." Well, at least Jude knew what he was talking about. "I just don't know what else to do."

"Well, how's your hygiene been? Mariquita doesn't look like a girl who appreciates natural body odor."

"Dude, I've taken more showers this past week than I have in my entire life. And I even started wearing that cologne you said would make me irresistible. Nothing seems to be working."

So it seems Jonesy was Jude's outside source for that Calvin Stein stuff. I'll admit, it's ironic that both of us needed a love coach to talk to each other.

"You should've just asked her out earlier when she was on the zamboni with you. But no, you wimped out and actually focused on the ice, like a few cracks would've made a difference."

He was giving that evil glare to _Jude_? Go figure.

Jude sighed. "I was going to, but it's just weird. She's been hanging with me almost the whole day, and there's times when I think she's really into me, and then she'll do something that only friends would do. I'm confused."

You've got to be kidding me. The reason he hasn't asked me out is _me_? God sure has some cruel sense of humor.

"Sounds like a case of mixed signals, which means she can't make up her mind about whether she wants you as a friend or something more." Jonesy spoke calmly with an air of expertise. "If she can't even make that decision, she's not worth your time."

That hurt. A lot. It wasn't that I couldn't make up my mind; I really, really liked Jude. I was just afraid that he didn't feel that way about me . . . and now he probably never would, with his best friend telling him I'm just a waste of time.

"Are you sure? She's really nice." Jude was having a hard time accepting it . . .I couldn't believe it. I still had a chance!

"Look, if you want to skip out on your date with Hot Yolanda to chase after a girl you think_ might_ like you, then be my guest. But chances like Hot Yolanda don't come around twice . . . and she does _everything_."

Any chance I had was lost after Jonesy made that hard sell. No one in his right mind would pass up a date with someone who's known as "Hot So-and-so" and does "everything" . . . whatever that was.

Jude was starting to see things Jonesy's way. "Hot Yolanda was really hot . . . and she had an awesome accent." Oh, great, a foreign woman. Even more impossible competition.

"There's the Jude I've known since kindergarten! Now, you'd better go buy something expensive to give Hot Yolanda tonight. She only gives second dates to guys she thinks are loaded."

"But I'm not loaded. Actually, I'm running kind of low on cheddar right now." I couldn't see him, but I knew Jude cracked a smile. "Lend me a fiver?"

Despite his incredulousness, I could hear the crinkling of money as Jonesy handed it over. "What could you possibly buy for five bucks that will impress Hot Yolanda?"

"Dude, you have no idea." It was hard to hear over the buzzing of the zamboni's engine. "I have to smooth the ice over more time before I head out. I'll see you later."

I hurriedly ducked out before Jonesy or Jude could see me and headed back to the washrooms, tears pushing at the back of my eyes and my heart silently breaking.

* * *

**When I think about all the places there are to cry your eyes out, **a mall's bathroom isn't anywhere near the top of my list. However, unemployed and wanting privacy, my choices were very limited. My only other option was a changing room in one of the mall's stores, but I didn't want to deal with people checking up on me, asking if I liked the fit of the clothes. At least when you're in a locked bathroom stall, people generally leave you alone.

I stood behind the locked door and looked at my feet. I tried not to freak out or wail to high heavens, but I couldn't stop the tears. They gathered around the rims of my eyes, and like a levee straining under the weight of a flood, eventually I broke. They poured from my eyes and streamed down my cheeks, leaving dirty mascara lines in their wake. They collected in small dots on my shirt and shook my body as I tried to be as quiet as possible. And when there were no more tears, my eyes were puffy and sore from the salt.

Why did I wait so long? If I hadn't been so paranoid, Jude could've been on a date with me tonight, not Hot Yolanda. I could've been gazing into a living reflection of the Caribbean ocean, not bawling my eyes out in a crusty washroom stall. I could've felt his kiss, instead of just wistfully longing while my heart slowly shriveled inside. It would've been perfect. Now, it was nothing . . . just a "could've been" dream.

I stood in the stall for a few more minutes before deciding to wash my face. The tears and mascara were beginning to dry, and I knew that the longer I waited, the harder it would be to actually wash the mascara away. Even though it's called "waterproof," it's only resistant to water when you actually want to get rid of it. It still runs down your cheeks when you cry, and because it's hard to take off, I usually wake up in the morning looking like a smudgy raccoon.

Anyway, after cleaning myself up, I hesitantly began walking toward the washroom door. I wasn't truly in the mood to face the rest of the world again, but I also couldn't (and wouldn't) camp out in the girls' bathroom until closing. I needed to find Caitlin and explain to her what happened, and hopefully by that time Zac will have arrived to take me home. If not, I'd drown myself in inverse derivatives until he showed up. I'd do anything, as long as it didn't involve facing Jude.

* * *

**Caitlin was in the checkout line at Albatross and Finch when I found her. **I waited outside the store for her and helped her with her bags as we walked back to the Big Squeeze. I was reluctant at first, but eventually I came clean about the events at the ice rink. Almost immediately, she dropped her bags and gave me a tight hug, apologizing more times than I thought possible.

When the dramatics were over and we'd arrived back at the lemon, the entire group had assembled at the table while they waited for Caitlin to show up and join in the conversation. Unfortunately, they saw me, too, which meant ducking out would be impossible. There was no way I'd be able to come up with a viable excuse to leave without looking like a snob skipping out on her friends.

I was also beginning to regret deciding on a seat next to Jude, but I tried my hardest not to show it. Every time he looked over to me and smiled, I kept picturing him with Hot Yolanda. I didn't really know what she looked like, but in my mind, she was a gorgeous girl who spent her days walking down the beautiful streets of Madrid. She had an hourglass figure, perfectly sculpted curls in her dark hair, and smokey bedroom eyes that would drive any guy wild. She was perfect, and there was no way I'd ever compete with her.

"So, Jude, I hear you have a date tonight," Wyatt asked as he winked at me. I quickly shook my head and signaled him to stop, but he just looked at me.

"Yep," Jude answered, obviously not catching on to my exchange with my naive pen pal. He rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a necklace box. At the sight of jewelry, Caitlin swooped over to take a look. "Got Hot Yolanda's present all ready to go."

"Hot Yolanda?" Wyatt concentrated really hard, but I could tell it still wasn't clicking.

Jonesy cut in. "She's from Puerto Rico, and she comes up here for a week every summer to visit her mother's folks. She's ah-mazing. I tried asking her out myself, but she liked Jude a lot more." He crossed his arms with a pout. "Apparently, he has really nice eyes."

Hearing Jonesy ramble about this girl made me nauseous, and it didn't help that there were so many similarities between the two of us. My home might've been in New Jersey, but my birthplace and the majority of my family was in Puerto Rico. My mother moved us to the States when I was just a few months old, as she wanted Zac to have a better education, so I didn't have the usual accented English. But I had the heritage, and that's all that ever really matters.

Oh, and don't even mention the fact that she liked Jude's eyes, too. Of course she liked them. They're gorgeous.

"Wow." Wyatt's voice was flat, and the look he gave me reminded me of the way Caitlin had looked at me earlier after hearing the news. "That's great, Jude."

"Thanks." Even if I didn't have a chance anymore, Jude's smile was just as cute. "I really hope she likes her gift, too. I don't want her to think I'm broke."

"You got her something already?" Jen asked dubiously. "Isn't it a little early to go blowing your paycheck on some girl you hardly know?"

"She only goes on dates with guys she thinks are rich."

Nikki chuckled. "Oh, yeah, she's a keeper."

"Jude, you know these aren't diamonds, right?" Caitlin interjected. She'd been studying the bargain necklace for the past few minutes. "I mean, it's a pretty necklace, but . . . I don't know if Hot Yolanda's going to be very impressed."

"I told you five bucks wasn't enough," Jonesy said smugly.

Jude blanched. "Oh, no. What am I gonna do? I don't have enough time to go back and find something else-not to mention, I'm kinda hard-pressed for cash right now."

I wanted to be glad that Hot Yolanda wouldn't like him, but all I could see was the fear and sadness on Jude's face.

"Why don't you buy her flowers from that boutique that just opened up yesterday?" To my relief, my voice didn't crack as I spoke past the impending tears. "I know they're traditional, but roses can also be very expensive, depending on the bloom size and stem length."

"That sounds great!" He lit up only to burn out. " . . . But I'm out of cash, and I don't know the first thing about flowers."

"I can help you, and I don't mind lending you money. You _did_ spend the whole day with me, and I know I'm not the easiest person to get along with." I tried to work up the energy to smile, but it ended up being half-hearted.

"Really?" Jude's smile glowed in maximum watts.

"Yeah, really?" That time, it was Caitlin, and she was anything but smiley.

I just nodded and got up from my chair. Jude practically jumped from his, and I wished the hug he gave me didn't have to do with Hot Yolanda.

"Thanks, dudette! You're the best." I got a whiff of cologne and wanted to melt-both from the attraction and the need to disappear.

* * *

**We returned to the Big Squeeze a few minutes later **with a bouquet full of the best flowers that boutique had to offer. Aside from lunch expenses, I'd saved each paycheck since I started working at the Slush Shop a few weeks ago. I was planning on using it to buy Zac something really great when I had to move back to Jersey at the end of the summer, but it looked like I'd have to start saving again. I spent more on Hot Yolanda than I had on my mom for Mother's Day. If that girl didn't like those flowers, she could shove them.

Jude's date wasn't for another half an hour, so he decided to chill at the lemon for a while longer. I, on the other hand, was feeling depressed and suffocated, so I used the bathroom as an excuse to leave. Really, I intended on waiting outside until Zac came to pick me up, whereupon he'd give his lecture on how all guys are out to break innocent girls' hearts. However, on my way to the mall's exit, my life took a dramatically terrible turn.

"Marzipan, is that you?" Oh, no. Not her. Anyone but her.

But it was her. Yolanda Perez, my worst enemy from back home in Jersey. Her skintight clothing and flawless body were enough to many any average girl jealous, but she also happened to have the worst personality. I'd met her once on our family vacation to Puerto Rico and was excited to start the next school year with her back in the States. Unfortunately, once she moved to New Jersey, she had an insane desire to fit in-which meant teasing me for my academic dedication like the rest of the popular kids.

_You just try calling me a nerd, you two-faced cow_, I thought. _I've had the worst day of my life, and punching you in the face might actually make me feel better._

I said, "Hi, Yolanda."

"Oh, it is you!" She spoke the words nicely enough, but I knew she was just waiting to rag on me.

"Did your family come to Canada because they couldn't afford to go to Puerto Rico this year?" Commence the ragging. "I know how hard the economy's been on you guys."

Man, would it feel nice to break her nose. "No, we go to Puerto Rico every winter. And we're not poor."

"Oh, that's too bad. At least having no money explains your outdated clothes."

Stay calm. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"We visit my mom's parents in the summer and my dad's in the fall. I come to the mall whenever I get tired of family bonding." Oh, how I hated that fake smile. "Why are _you_ here?"

Great, this is going to make me sound cool. "I'm here on a summer study program."

She quirked an eyebrow. "I always thought you did really well in school. Are you sure you aren't experiencing any financial hardships?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. It's an honors program. You know, for smart people." Or, as far as Yolanda was concerned, nerds.

That smug smile deepened. "Oh, okay. That makes a lot more sense."

Screw you. "Well, this talk has been invigorating, but I've got to get going."

"I understand. It can't be very fun walking around a place so full with people and not having a single friend."

That tears it. I balled my hands into fists as my vision turned to red. "You know what, Yolanda? I-"

I stopped as soon as I saw Jude coming our way. I thought maybe he'd saw our little confrontation and was heading over to help keep the peace, but he didn't even look at me. He handed the bouquet to Yolanda with that adorable smile, and she gave him a kiss on the cheek. When his smile widened, I felt my internal organs turn to goo.

Hot Yolanda was my high school bully? Hadn't life pulled enough sick, twisted jokes on me?

"Oh, hey, Marisol," Jude said in an afterthought. "Sorry, I didn't see you there."

"You two know each other?" Yolanda sounded really disappointed.

"We're friends," Jude replied casually before dismissing the thought of me. "Ready for our date?"

"Absolutely. See you later, Marzipan." She beamed at him, and as they began walking off to enjoy their night together, she shot me a wicked snarl. Now that she knew I'd be around for the summer, she would make my life a living hell.

I wanted to die.


End file.
